Chapter 2 – : Training Alone
The mornings were quiet in our village.
You could hear the wind moving through the trees and the faint sound of metal clinking in the workshop.
That was how every day started for me now.
Ren had stopped giving me instructions.
He just left the old bowl on the table, a sign that I was supposed to practice alone.
"You've learned what I can teach," he had said. "Now you need to feel it for yourself."
So I did.
Each launch began the same way.
Launcher low. Grip steady. Pull.
Eclipse Drago spun across the metal, tracing a line I could almost see in my head.
Sometimes the line held. Sometimes it broke apart.
I kept a notebook beside me to track what worked.
Angle: ten degrees lower.
Pull speed: too fast.
Driver contact: too early.
I filled pages until the pencil started to hurt my hand.
But even when I got it right, it still felt wrong.
The spin was perfect, the movement smooth — yet it didn't feel alive.
Like I was launching a machine, not a partner.
I tried different grips. Different stances.
Nothing changed.
The Bey moved, but I couldn't feel it.
That night, I sat on my bed with Eclipse Drago resting in my palm.
"You were supposed to be more than this," I said quietly.
The metal felt cold against my skin.
"Or maybe I'm the one who's not ready."
The Bey didn't answer, of course.
But I caught my reflection in its red core — a small, tired face staring back.
Tomorrow, I told myself.
Tomorrow, I'll find what I'm missing.
The next day, the sky was gray and heavy.
Rain tapped against the windows while I practiced alone again.
Ren had gone into town for supplies, leaving the workshop to me.
I told myself I would get it right this time.
That I'd find what was missing.
"Three… two… one… let it rip!"
The launch was strong.
Eclipse Drago hit the bowl hard and started spinning fast, but it wobbled after only a few seconds.
The driver caught too early. The line collapsed.
I tried again.
And again.
Every launch felt worse than the one before.
"Come on!" I shouted, pulling harder.
The Bey jumped off the rim and clattered onto the floor.
I stared at it, chest tight, throat dry.
I picked it up. The edges were scuffed now, small scratches catching the light.
It hurt to see it like that.
"It's not your fault," I muttered, but I wasn't sure I meant it.
Maybe it was mine.
Maybe I was the reason it didn't feel alive.
I sat down on the floor beside the stadium.
The rain outside grew louder.
"I miss them," I whispered.
The words came out before I could stop them.
"My real parents."
The workshop stayed quiet.
Only the soft patter of rain answered.
I placed Eclipse Drago on the table and stared at it.
The Bey didn't move — but something in the air shifted.
It wasn't wind. It wasn't sound. Just a faint, strange feeling, like the room was holding its breath.
The red in its center seemed deeper, like a dim spark waking up.
Morning light spilled across the workshop table.
Eclipse Drago waited where I'd left it, faint traces of dust catching the gold edges.
I picked it up slowly. The weight felt familiar, almost comforting.
No plans, no notes, no calculations this time.
Just me—and it.
"Three… two… one… let it rip!"
The ripcord snapped cleanly.
Drago shot forward, slicing a perfect line around the bowl.
Every motion steady, precise.
The driver kissed the metal with a faint spark and kept spinning.
And then—everything stopped.
The sound faded, the air thickened, and the light bent around me.
When I looked up, the workshop was gone.
I stood in a vast, dark space filled with floating red lines, swirling like fire trails in the air.
Heat pressed against my skin, not burning, but alive.
From within that fire, a shape rose—tall, massive, wings folding out with a metallic roar.
A dragon.
Gold and crimson, with eyes that burned brighter than any flame.
Eclipse Drago.
It looked down at me, smoke curling from its jaws.
When it spoke, the voice didn't echo—it vibrated through my chest.
"You finally matched my rhythm."
My mouth went dry. "You… you're real."
"I am your will, given form."
The wings shifted, scattering sparks. "You created me, Ryo. But you didn't believe in yourself."
I stepped closer, the ground pulsing faintly beneath my feet.
"I tried. I just—couldn't make it feel right."
The dragon's head lowered until its eyes met mine.
"Because you fought alone."
The heat grew softer now, wrapping around me instead of pushing me back.
I could hear my own heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the flames.
"I don't want to be alone anymore," I said quietly.
"I want to fight together—with you."
The dragon's gaze softened. "Then we share one path."
Its wings opened wide, and light surged outward, surrounding me completely.
For a heartbeat, I felt weightless—like I was falling through a sky of molten gold.
Then the world snapped back.
I was kneeling on the workshop floor, hand wrapped around my Bey.
Eclipse Drago glowed faintly, warmth pulsing from its center before fading back to normal.
Ren stood at the doorway, eyes wide. "Ryo… are you okay?"
I looked up, still catching my breath. "Yeah. I think I just… connected."
He smiled, half-confused but proud. "Then that means you're ready."
I turned the Bey in my palm. The golden lines along its edge shimmered faintly—
as if something inside was still awake.
"Let's grow stronger," I whispered.
And somewhere deep inside that quiet metal,
a familiar voice answered, softer than before:
"Together."
I blinked. The light was gone.
Maybe it was my imagination.
Maybe it wasn't.
I reached out and touched the ring.
The metal was warm.
For the first time, I didn't feel like I was training alone.